


one love, two mouths

by jinkandtherebels



Category: Naruto
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 17:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1787875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They haven't seen one another in two months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	one love, two mouths

**Author's Note:**

> So...PWP. This is new. I'm gonna post this before I think better of it.
> 
> EDIT 1/6/16:  
> [Now with a gorgeous doujinshi created by the incredible malignedaffairs!](http://malignedaffairs.tumblr.com/tagged/one-love-two-mouths)

.

_one love, two mouths_

.

Itachi doesn’t realize Shisui’s come back from his assignment until his bedroom door is thrown open with more force than Sasuke or his parents would ever use. Even as Itachi’s hand goes instinctually for a kunai knife he knows there’s only one person who could’ve snuck up on him, gotten this close, only being noticed now that he’s ready to announce himself.

“Shisui,” he blurts, but the rest of it—whatever it was going to be—is cut off because Shisui is shutting the door and across the room in a blur (Itachi doesn’t know if he’s power-walking, or if he’s desperate enough to flicker from one end of the room to the other in an incredibly reckless show of impatience).

They haven’t seen one another in two months.

Every second of isolation comes flooding back as Shisui slams him up against the wall and presses their mouths together, harsh and demanding and _hungry_. Itachi knows the feeling, knows he’s been starving these past weeks. He opens his mouth and Shisui gladly takes.

The kunai slips from his fingers, hits the floor and marks the wood. Neither of them notices.

Shisui presses the entire length of his body against him, licking and biting like a man possessed. When he pulls back for breath his eyes are glazed over, pupils blown wide, and Itachi would hazard an educated guess that his aren’t much better. It’s been _two month_ s.

“Sasuke?” Shisui asks. There’s strain under it; he’s visibly holding himself back, and it sends a shiver running down Itachi’s spine.

“Out,” he manages. “Training.”

“Your parents?”

“Gone.” He can’t remember where, exactly, as his mind seems to have disappeared into a lust-fuelled haze, but the important detail is that they are most definitely _out_. “They will not return for hours.”

The words are barely out of his mouth before Shisui’s attacking it again. Devouring. His hand drifts upwards to tangle in Itachi’s hair, pull it from its ponytail and thread his long fingers through the dark strands. He tugs at it and bites Itachi’s bottom lip hard, startling a noise from him.

Shisui smirks and doesn’t let up. Really, Itachi thinks, his ego doesn’t need the boost.

He purposefully slows the frenzied kissing to something slower, more deliberate. Shisui complies, which is proof enough of how long they’ve been apart this time—not even a token protest to regain control. He’s willing to let Itachi have it, at least for the moment, and Itachi plans to take advantage. He licks slowly into Shisui’s mouth, letting their tongues tangle lazily together, using his hands to map Shisui’s face. His imagination isn’t perfect; there were nights where he couldn’t remember every little line and contour of his cousin’s face no matter how he tried, and now that Shisui’s standing before him again, hard flesh and hot blood, he finds that there are other details he missed. He’s determined not to forget them again.

His fingers purposely brush the sensitive skin right behind Shisui’s ear and Shisui exhales sharply against his mouth. Itachi pretends not to notice, tracing delicate patterns there with his barest touch of his fingertips.

Shisui retorts with a series of short, bruising kisses. They trail from Itachi’s lips to his cheek, then down to the edges of his jawline, then further down to his pulse point. The feeling of a warm tongue licking languid little circles against his neck makes Itachi shudder again; he feels his control slipping away, but can’t quite find it within himself to muster more than a halfhearted sense of annoyance.

Shisui hums against his skin and Itachi can feel the bastard smirking as he gets back to business, mouthing lightly at the spot just beneath Itachi’s jaw before sucking properly. He continues to map a torturously slow path down Itachi’s neck, sucking and biting while Itachi does nothing to discourage him; there will be marks, he knows, marks that he will need to explain away tomorrow, but Shisui’s mouth is doing an unfortunately excellent job at turning him into a useless, straining wreck with no concerns beyond the moment.

Fighting to keep them on even ground, he rocks his hips up against Shisui’s and relishes the resulting hiss of breath. He holds back a smirk of his own—there are times when it’s beneficial for one to play dirty—and does it again, slower this time.

Shisui groans in earnest then, detaching his mouth from Itachi’s neck in favor of burying it in his hair and breathing slowly.

“Shit,” he croaks hoarsely. “I missed you.”

Itachi tugs him back in for another kiss instead of replying with words. He’s never been as good at using them as his friend has, but it’s all right. Shisui understands what he means.

Of course, it can’t hurt to make it abundantly clear, so he pulls Shisui flush against him and rolls his hips. Hard. A pitiful moan escapes Shisui’s throat.

“You little shit,” he says, wondering. Itachi chooses to take that as a compliment, taking into account the note of badly disguised lust behind it.

He means to move again—two months, two _fucking_ months—but Shisui, always the master of the preemptive strike, pins his hips against the wall with his hands. Itachi may be the quicker of them, at least when Shisui isn’t Shunshin-ing in and out of existence, but Shisui has the edge in physical strength. Itachi tests his grip and finds it holding fast.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Shisui chides softly. He hooks his thumbs into the hem of Itachi’s shorts and tugs.

Liquid heat pools in Itachi’s stomach, enough for him to stop fighting Shisui’s hands and merely stand there, breathing heavily. Shisui’s eyes never leave his.

His next words are a conversational “I _really_ missed you.”

And then he drops to his knees on the hard wooden floor.

Itachi lets his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud, fingers tangling in Shisui’s curly hair on instinct.

“I know, I— _ah_ —Shisui-”

One hand tightens its grip painfully in Shisui’s hair, locking him in place as Itachi’s hips twitch helplessly upward. He brings his other hand to his mouth, curls it into a fist and bites down, trying to smother his moans.

His family may not be at home, but there’s no reason to alert half the village to what they’re up to.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he comes to the edge. Shisui does something particularly creative with his tongue and Itachi’s back arches away from the wall; he tugs frantically on Shisui’s hair and Shisui pulls off, questioning.

All Itachi need do is meet his eyes. Shisui’s own darken, and that is enough. They have known each other a long time, after all.

Itachi clambers onto the bed with suddenly wobbly legs while Shisui stumbles to his feet, fishes through Itachi’s bedside drawers for the oil he’s taken to keeping there. Both of them manage to nearly brain themselves on different pieces of furniture by attempting to move whilst shedding the rest of their clothes, a feat of multitasking Itachi suspects would be far simpler if they weren't…preoccupied.

Shisui makes a noise of triumph and holds up the oil, jumping onto the bed like a child and making Itachi feel absurdly like laughing.

This, he thinks, is why he loves Shisui—in a world where so few of them ever truly get to be children, Shisui has somehow, against all odds, managed to retain the optimism and simple joy of one. Itachi enjoys sex with Shisui to an occasionally mortifying degree, but if he’s being honest with himself, Shisui could have no cock at all and it wouldn’t change the way Itachi feels about him in the slightest.

Of course, he reflects later, smothering whimpers as Shisui pushes another slick finger into him, the sex is certainly a perk.

It’s unfortunate that where Shisui is impatient about virtually everything else, in this one damned area of their lives he insists on being excruciatingly slow. Itachi’s practically vibrating off of the mattress by the time he sets the oil aside.

“You take too long,” Itachi informs him as he gets on his stomach, his friend arranging wayward limbs the way he sees fit.

Shisui snorts softly in response. “Don’t even, you know you love it,” he says, and is pushing inside before Itachi can articulate an appropriately scathing retort.

As it is, he is forced to fill his mouth with a pillow to muffle an embarrassingly loud moan and hope it doesn’t inflate Shisui’s head any further.

It’s been too long for either of them to have much patience now that things are this far along, and Shisui doesn’t even make a show at patience now, thrusting into him fast and hard. There’s an edge of pain to it that’s making Itachi’s head spin a little but he focuses on keeping his lips firmly clamped around the pillow, keeping himself quiet.

But apparently he isn’t the only one who stops playing fair when it suits him; Shisui’s free hand snakes around to Itachi’s face, prodding at his mouth until he’s forced to relinquish the fabric in his teeth. Two long, slender fingers, rough with calluses, are slipped into his mouth. He wraps his lips around them without thinking about it, licks up and down the length of them until he hears Shisui gasping behind him. He’s moving faster now, the slap of skin on skin obscene in the otherwise silent household. Itachi knows his own breathing is getting harsher by the minute.

“Fuck,” Shisui says weakly, “I’m not gonna-”

Itachi cuts him off. “Get on with it,” he growls.

Shisui is a trained officer. He knows the voice of command, and his brain has been hardwired to obey it. (That’s what Itachi likes to tell himself, at least, preferring not to think about the instances of Shisui ignoring the command and pinning him down, making him wait, taking him apart bit by agonizing wonderful bit and making him beg for it before—but he’s not thinking about it.)

He drags his fingers out of Itachi’s mouth and fists them in his hair instead, yanking Itachi’s head back and biting down hard on the cord of muscle in his neck. A cry escapes Itachi’s lips before he can stop it and damn if he can’t _hear_ Shisui’s self-satisfied grin.

His hair is released as both of Shisui’s hands go to Itachi’s hips, gripping them hard enough to bruise. He pulls out almost entirely, far enough that Itachi barely stops himself protesting at the loss, before slamming back inside him in one fluid stroke and _ohfuckyesthere._

“Shisui,” he gasps, but Shisui doesn’t need the encouragement; he does the same damn thing again, again, again until Itachi’s seeing stars, gripping the sheets so tightly he’s afraid he’ll rip them. Which will be rather harder to explain to his mother than his choice to do his own laundry, but right now he does not give a single damn, Shisui relentless behind him, driving into him over and over—he’s teetering on the edge now, he can _feel_ it—

“Please,” he rasps out, and Shisui’s rhythm goes completely off-kilter.

“Shit,” he hisses, “shit, Itachi, _fuck-_ ”

Through his haze Itachi is at least able to recognize, if remotely, that there is no way in any hell that he’s going to be able to keep quiet.

But then, they’ve known each other for too long. Shisui frees one of his hands and brings it up to Itachi’s mouth again, this time covering it with one broad palm so Itachi can make a fool of himself to his heart’s content.

What a picture they must make, Itachi thinks distantly, shutting his eyes and inhaling the scent of Shisui’s skin through his nose; the vaunted Uchiha prodigy being vigorously fucked by his equally male cousin, one moaning like a prostitute and the other swearing the air blue. This could wreck everything if they are found out. This could ruin them both.

The words are lost in a strangled groan, so that Itachi almost misses them, but does not:

“Love you—so—fucking— _much_ -”

Itachi cries out when he comes, the sound absorbed by Shisui’s hand. Shisui, who groans and shudders inside him not a handful of strokes later. Who drops his sweaty head down to rest on the small of Itachi’s back afterwards, presses a kiss to his spine before pulling away.

They lay there like that, covered in filth and neither willing to do a thing about it. Shisui holds him close, his chin resting on the top of Itachi’s head, and occasionally presses a sleepy kiss there. After a time his breathing evens out and Itachi knows he has fallen asleep.

They probably don’t have too long, he knows, before someone comes home. It’s of no consequence; their senses are too well tuned not to alert them if someone opens the door, and they’ve both had reason as of late to learn how to dress themselves quickly. Normally he would not risk it regardless, but Shisui is _home_ , alive—warm and safe and here with him—and it’s enough to make Itachi a little bit reckless.

He takes a moment to regard the face lying close to his, to brush a stray curl away from it.

Here, he reflects, he is no one. Not the clan prodigy, not the ANBU captain, not the idolized elder brother, not heir to the Uchiha name. He is simply Itachi, and he is in love with his best friend.

For that reason alone, he will not care if this thing of theirs does ruin them. He would call the trade even and never look back.

Itachi lets his eyes drift shut. He sleeps.

.

_end_

.


End file.
